


The Golden Geese

by DollBones



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Bad Parenting, Brother-Sister Relationships, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-20 23:23:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9520610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollBones/pseuds/DollBones
Summary: Dennis and Dee always won.  (A small fluff piece)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. It's been quite a long time since I last posted a fic. I've been busy with my new Sunny blog because of the new season. At this point, I'm more invested in that than writing fan fiction. I will continue to post fics, of course, but at a lower rate than I have in the past as I focus more on developing original works. If anyone wants to see more Sunny content from me, you can find me at queen-of-filth.tumblr.com.

When they were little, their mother used to enter them in talent shows. Dee and Dennis were the unstoppable twin singing duo, always snagging first place. The shows were a yearly tradition that Dee both looked forward to and dreaded. On the one hand, she enjoyed the extra bit of closeness with her brother that preparation afforded her.  At that age, the two spent every single waking second together anyway, but there was something about standing next to her brother and singing that made Dee feel a special symbiosis with him.  As if their hearts were connected.  She knew that Dennis felt it, too. 

On the other hand, practicing for the shows was grueling. Their mother made them sing every day for hours on end, the same song over and over.  As an adult, Dee remembered their practice sessions in acute snatches of the senses: the pain in her spine from being forced to stand straight for up to four hours a night.  The sound of her heart thump-thumping in her ears as her mother watched her with cold eyes constantly searching for fault.  The hollowed out feeling in her stomach from forgoing dinner (her mother's icy, domineering voice: "no one eats until you get it right.") Barbara Reynolds accepted nothing less than absolute perfection. Because he was the better twin and their mother's favorite, Dennis got it the worst. If he stumbled or didn't hit a note, their mother would promptly walk up and smack him. Sometimes, she'd let Dee go and work with Dennis late into the night. Dee crept downstairs from her bed to watch in secret: Dennis facing their mother with his tiny shoulders thrust back, singing in a proud, clear voice even though he was shaking all over and his eyes were dim with exhaustion, their mother poised indifferently on the couch, her clean dinner plate on the coffee table next to the ice-cold and untouched plate that was meant to be Dennis' dinner. On a few occasions, when their mother left to use the restroom, forbidding Dennis from moving, Dee would race into the room on her tip-toes to sneak him food.  Every single time but once he refused, asserting in a strange, distant tone, "I'm not allowed."

The practice paid off, though, as they won every children's talent show they performed in. There was one show that would always stand out in Dee's memory.  They were eight years old, set to sing "I Have a Dream" by ABBA.  Dee had done her hair up in curls and applied her own makeup with the skills she'd honed competing in childrens' beauty pageants.  Fussing with her pink dress from backstage, she anxiously watched the other contestants perform.  Her mother was off to the side, arguing with their father on the phone.  Dennis was in the bathroom, and had been for quite a while.  At last, she heard Dennis' voice from behind her: "Hey, Dee."  It sounded off.  Dee turned and gasped.  Dennis' face was blanched a queasy white, his lips cracked and bloodless.  Seeing her expression, he averted his eyes and spoke carefully, as if opening his mouth any wider would release a torrent of vomit.  "So, you ready to go on?"

From where she was standing, Dee could plainly see the sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and smell the faint scent of puke. "Um, you're sick," she said.

Dennis swayed back and forth. "Don't know what you're talking about, Dee," he mumbled. "I'm fine." On that last word, he gagged and cupped a hand over his mouth.

Dee stepped back, letting out a little retch of her own.  "Gross!  Don't throw up on my dress, idiot!"  Her little-girl features then twisted into a pout, and she stomped her foot in a surge of rage.  "Great!  Now we can't perform!" she wailed.  She covered her face with her hands to muffle a scream.  Of course it would be Dennis that would screw up everything for them, she thought.  And their mother would blame her, even though she didn't do anything wrong.    

"What are you moaning about, Deandra?"  Their mother had finally gotten off the phone and was walking towards them, fixing Dee with that look of disdainful forbearance she reserved solely for her.

"Mom, look at Dennis!" Dee cried, gesturing over at her brother, who was now slumped over and breathing heavily, his eyelids fluttering open and closed.

Their mother gave an exaggerated eyeroll.  "Oh, for God's sake."  She went to Dennis and took him in her arms, felt his forehead.  "My poor baby," she lamented, stroking his cheeks.  Her lips pressed into a grim line.  "You're burning up.  Goddamn it."

"I'm alright," Dennis protested feebly.  "Really, Mom.  Dee doesn't know what she's talking about..."

"Normally, no," Barbara Reynolds agreed, flashing Dee a quick glare as if it were her fault that Dennis was ill.  "But don't worry, Mommy's got something that will make you good as new."  She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a bottle of pills.

"What are those?" Dee asked, eyebrows furrowing in distrust.  Their mother took lots of pills, and they all made her act funny.  Nothing that her mother could give her brother could possibly do him any good.    

"I don't want any sass from you!" their mother snapped.  After giving a good glance around the backstage area to ensure that no one had taken notice of them yet--they hadn't; all the parents and show organizers were caught up in the dizzying chaos of readying the other little performers--she grabbed Dennis by the hand, whispered, "Come with me," and ushered him away into the bathroom.

Two minutes later, they reappeared.  Dennis looked weird, but in a totally different way.  Before, he looked like he was about to collapse on the ground.  Now he looked like he was about to jump out of his own skin.  His eyes were gleaming a manic brightness and darting everywhere.  He was also smiling a little too wide and shaking even worse than before, practically vibrating.  He ran up to Dee, hopping up and down with bizarre enthusiasm.  "Mom made me all better!  We can go on now!" he declared.  He said this in one long breath without pausing, his eyes rolling like glassy marbles.

Dee stared at him for a moment.  "I don't know," she said hesitantly.  "You still don't look...right."

Their mother folded her arms.  "Deandra, don't ruin this."

"Yeah, Dee, I feel great," Dennis insisted, still smiling.  Dee could see the droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead, which looked even more pallid.  

"And for our next act, please welcome: Dennis and Deandra Reynolds!" someone announced from the stage.

"That's it!  Showtime!" their mother said briskly.  She gave them a rough push towards the curtain.  "Get going!  Deandra, don't mess this up for your brother.  And Dennis, you know the drill."

"Go out there and win or you won't love me anymore," Dennis answered.

Their mother smiled.  "That's it, darling.  Good luck out there!" 

Facing the curtain, Dee closed her eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm the butterflies in her stomach.  When she opened her eyes, she saw Dennis watching her with his upper lip curled up in a mocking sneer.  "You ready?" he asked skeptically.

Dee made a face.  "Shut up," she snarled.  "And by the way, your breath smells like shit."

"Bitch," he shot back at her.

The twins exchanged piercing glares.  Those glares instantly melted into radiant, plastic grins as they stepped out onto the stage to a chorus of applause.  They walked in tandem up to the mic.  At first, Dee was blinded by the bright stage lights.  She blinked a few times and could then make out the large audience flooding the auditorium seats.  Boy, there sure were a lot of people... Despite herself, she uttered a quiet gag.

Already nauseated, Dennis gagged as well, turning away from the mic so no one else could hear.  Dee wrinkled her nose--she could smell the bile on that one.  Her brother turned back to the mic, perfectly composed if just a little pale, and the twins readied themselves as the opening notes of the song chimed on.

Dee went first, manipulating her sweet soprano into a lighter, more innocent timbre fitting the upbeat music: " _I have a dream, a song to sing.  To help me cope with anything._ "

Dennis leaned into the mic, and it took all Dee had not to turn away from the stench of sickness that wafted off of him.  Still, his voice was as strong and golden as ever, as if it were coming from someone of nothing less than perfect health, " _If you see the wonder of a fairytale, you can take the future even if you fail..._ "

Dee brought her lips back to the mic, marveling at how well her brother could mask his symptoms, and they both sang the chorus: " _I believe in angels, something good in everything I see.  I believe in angels, when I know the time is right for me.  I'll cross the stream, I have a dream._ "

The music went on playing, and they went on singing.  On occasion, their eyes locked, sparks of energy shooting between them as they shared the thrill of the crowd's approbation.  They ended up winning first place, as they always had and always would.  Dennis threw up the very second they stepped off the stage after the performance, then again after they accepted their trophy.  Dee lost count how many times he threw up on the drive to the emergency room.  A doctor told their mother that Dennis could have died, and in a hushed and more serious voice questioned her about a "troubling substance" that had shown up in his blood tests.  The next day, a new maid showed up at their house instead of the one they'd had for two years.  When Dee asked her mother about it, Barbara Reynolds only rolled her eyes and said, "She was an immigrant, anyway, and I suspect she was stealing our silverware."  

Years later, as a 40-year-old woman, Dee would sometimes catch Dennis staring at the talent show trophies, which she kept on a small shelf in her apartment.  Surprisingly, he'd let her keep them, even though they were just as much his property as hers.  She'd watch just long enough to see her brother's face relax into a rare peaceful smile.  Then she'd turn away before he caught her looking, her mouth curving into a glowing smile of her own. 


End file.
